CHAPTER 3 - NEW ZEALAND - PART II

We 12/2/98 --- SAILING IN THE CITY OF SAILS!!

I have been talking to Bill Apps, a friend of Alan Staniforth's, who lives in Auckland and is into sailing. I was hoping he could hook me up for a race, but since it wasn't materializing, I decided to take a chance and solicit for a ride. Wednesday's seem to be a very popular evening most places for racing and Auckland is the same. What is unusual about Auckland is the huge size of the marina's and that Auckland has more yachts per capita than anywhere else. I attempted to bus to town and walk out to the closest marina (there are four huge marinas around the bay), but while waiting at the stop, Megan had her brother Phil offer a ride. I therefore reached the marina early and spent a couple of hour staring at the boats, the city across the bay, and trying to figure out the best way to bum a ride. I asked a few people for their ideas, but the strategy was pretty simple - hang at the dock access gates and ask. There are four clubs, the Royal New Zealand Yacht Squadron being the biggest. When the sailors started filing in, I asked a couple of people crewing on other boats. They didn't have the option of bringing people on board although one man was asking around on the dock for me. I did have a slight change in strategy though. I saw a very attractive girl walking toward me, and after commenting that New Zealand should have more like her, she started talking to a man who had the presence of one who is connected. When it appeared that she was on the same boat, I asked the man if he knew of anyone needing crew. He said he did and the three of us passed the combination gate and down the gang plan. The girl's name was Cecilia and she is from Buenos Aries. The man Chris Parker, the owner of one of the most racey boats in the area. When Chris told me the name of the boat was Starlight Express, and said it was down the end with a black mast. I looked up and the saw this mast towering over others around it! Eeee-ha! Midnight Express is a Davidson designed 55 ft sloop. Davidson designed Kiwi Magic, winner of the last America's Cup in San Diego, sweeping Conners 5-0, and is now working on America's Cup boats for the upcoming event in Auckland in one year. On Starlight Express, there were twelve crew, a handful of which were very hardcore sailors, mass experience and profanity. Colin spends nine months based in Seattle racing along the west coast, the other three months home in Auckland. Julian, crooked over and also middle aged, delivers boats to the States, Japan, and other Australasian places. Chris made a name for himself sailing a now retired one design called Stewart 24's (?). This yacht was easily one of the largest, expensive, decked out boats racing. The equipment was mind boggling having twenty lines running to the cockpit which appeared to me as a colorful run of spaghetti with unknown purpose. My job was to assist Julian at the mast. We crossed the start second, possibly before the gun, but there wasn't a recall. The first mark was over half an hour east down the bay. By the time we neared, one other racey boat was ahead, but in still air. We passed the duck, rounded the mark, and increased lead on everyone else out that night. The large spinnaker went up, having a cartoon of a women holding mugs of beer and reading "The Big Women's Arms". Pretty cool. A few more legs and we crossed, minutes ahead of everyone else including handicaps. Afterward, most crew stayed on the boat for drinks, and a handful then went to the yacht club for more socializing. When I saw 10pm, I walked outside and bummed a ride into town. There I walked around trying to find some nightlife, but eventually giving up, and finding a bus towards home. Newmarket was the end for this bus, and I sat waiting to complete the trip. There was a young guy named Ben who was extremely friendly and excited when we talked about Auckland's nightlife. I noted establishments he knew of on High St and Vulcan Ln. Before my stop, he wrote down a few on K Road that he recommended....

Kiss - Commercial Dance
Case - Hard and Happy House
Angle Bar - Rock Etc
Sinners -- Up-Lift House
Hertzog - House, Drum ' n ' Base
Calibret - Commercial House

Th 12/03/98 - John and I have been considering taking paragliding lessons, and I have contacted two different companies. The cost to receive a PG-2 rating is $NZ1100, and a PG-2 with a used chute from Europe is $NZ2000 and up. We arranged to observe a lesson one hour south and after driving half way, Megan received a cell phone call telling us that the day was aborted because of weather, so we headed for the wine farms along the West Auckland Wine Trails. This time killer became more fun as we went along, hitting Selaks, House of Nobilo. and Matua Valley. On the way home we had an hour stop in the Auckland Museum, small for having such national importance, but with highlights such as Maori artifacts, a recreated town from the mid-1800's, and a large section of New Zealand at war.

After a house dinner by John Tucker of pasta, everyone at dinner went to see "A Bug's Life", $NZ*, Kit-kat $NZ1.80. It appeared that everyone really enjoyed the film, John McKinney kept saying, "I can't believe the computer generation". I thought is was just ok, and kept thinking that maybe if it was done by hand, they could have saved allot of money.

Fr 12/4/98 - Took bus to Newmarket for a work out and errands. The gym named Olympian, cost $NZ12. The building was originally a pool only facility built in 1940 to great fanfare because it was New Zealand's first Olympic sized pool, and was the mot modern in the southern hemisphere next to one in Japan. This was my first workout in six weeks besides hiking and a few pushups. It was great to see the gym again, doing a chest, biceps, triceps, and shoulder workout. Afterward I flopped around in the pool, noticing a large number of Orientals. I hit the large hot whirlpool and then the shower.

Had a weigh in - 88.25 kilos, 194 lbs., I have lost 6 lbs. so far. Wow, what will happen in Asia and Africa? I haven't been getting allot of protein from the start, allot of carbs and sugar, something sweet most days. Definitely not starving. I suppose if you eat like locals, you'll look like them too. I want to cut the carbs and sugar down, find more protein, and work on aerobic conditioning especially for the upcoming tramping in the South Island. I will also have to get innovative with strength exercising.
Newmarket is half way between Remuera and Auckland, the main street filled with retail. Errands including replacing the watch stolen in Moorea, hardware to fix my backpack strap (it still has coconut holding it together), post-it pads for phone messages at the house, more postcards, and more.

Finally met up with Bill Apps at 8:30 to for a look at the nightlife. Bill met my good friend Alan Staniforth in London. Alan is who I call 'my first South African', after meeting him, meeting more South Africans was like dominoes. Went to the America's Cup Bar and to a real lively place on the strip in Parnell. Megan was off being Chip of Chip and Dale for Disney an since she was using the car we did - without asking. We hadn't known that her roommate Andrew was to fetch her, but he didn't find the car and bussed to ton to meet her instead. Oops.
took Megan's car

Sa 12/5/98

The day in snippets:
- Walk/ran into Auckland from Megan's in Remuera
- bought crummy $2 pair glasses
- watched club cricket in a park called Auckland Domain,
- up Queen to bookstore where an hour was spent trying to plan solo getaway for tomorrow
- met Megan at back of Auckland's Town Hall after her job was finished
- for dinner, found famous Wisconsin Burger in Ponsonby. chili isn't chili, was just ok
- checked out K Rd (Karangehape Rd), watched drag singers lip singing from streetwalked High St
- into Rose and Crown, Megan took my shoes out to John because the bouncers wouldn't allow sandals

Su 12/06/98 - At the bookstore yesterday, I paged through tour book, trying to come up with a plan for my solo getaway in a rental car over the next few days. John is still working on a project from hi company, and I have been hanging Auckland since Tuesday, itching to go. frustrated at making a plan through the books, I picked up a map of the northern island and saw the Coromandel Peninsula to the east. Tour books described the area as being close to Auckland (two hours), by mostly park forest. Coromandel was the target!

Megan dropped me off at the rental company, the cheapest I could find - $NZ35 per day for ten days It was a beauty - 1985 Honda City, white stubby three door with black wing mirrors, looking like flat bug with stubby wings. It has a 1300 cc engine, five speed, no power anything. It's peculiarities are an odometer with only five digits (so it rolls over every 100k km or 62499 miles), hard pull left, bald tires, grinding brakes, and as was about to find out, the rear door doesn't seal so the gravel road dust fills the car from the back, covering first the luggage then the rear seat.

The drive to the lower Peninsula, to the town Thames (TAMES), took two hours. Thames is the largest town and the spot for purchases, so I went to the Pic 'N' Pay for rations - kilo of fresh lamb, three cans on tuna, two cans beans, metheladed spirits for cook stove, wheat bread,
scrub pad for cleaning, dish liquid, canole oil for cooking, three apples, three bananas, cheese, crackers, spaghetti, peanut butter, apple juice, raisins, $NZ34. The car costs $NZ35 per day, leaving less than $NZ25 for lodging, food, and petrol. That is a really tight squeeze.

I drove north of Thames, then east along the gravel Tapu road to Coroglen, very winding, undulating up and down. They call 'gravel', 'metal', so they 'put metal down on road'. Hmmm, this foreign language stuff. A scenic stop was at the Square Kauri tree. Kauri trees grow huge but most were harvested long ago. A sign nearby read ..

Ranking: 15th biggest kauri on Coromandel Peninsula by timber volume (69.8 cubic meters). The largest kauri ever officially measured, Kaiararu, contained 453 cubic meters, twice the size of Tane Mahuta.
Height: 41.15 meters (133.58 ft)
Girth: 9 metres 30 ft)
Height to first limb: 12.80 metres (41.6 ft)
Age: about 1200 years

An immediate goal was to see the famous Hot Water Beach. A number of people along the way told of how fun it was and that is was a highlight. Walking onto the beach I saw a gathering at the far end and as I came near, I laughed aloud - there was a mass of people with a 40 foot radius digging holes with spades, plastic shovels, and their hands, then sitting and laying in the puddles of hot water. There are hot springs under the beach that are reachable at low tide. It was like the cartoon where Bugs Bunny wiggles his butt back and forth and up and down trying to acclimatize to the hot bath water. Like a hermit crab, I waited until a hole was abandoned, and plunked down. In spots the hot water was actually too hot, burning my rear, so I squirmed around to mix the water up. My hole was adjacent to two girls from Holland, who then recommended Cathedral Campground on the beach Hahei. And they were replaced in the shared pool by a German couple, who I would see a few times the next morning.

I motored over to the campground, pretty neat place, and setup as close to beach as possible on top of a grass hill running along the beach, only a bit of dune between the grass and beach. I pitched the tent at an angle to wind to free the door and window from impending rain. An early dinner of lamb chops and canned beans in sauce (yummy!), follow by typing in the hostel's TV room. Typing was too awkward, so I gave up and instead joined the others in watching something titled like "Witness to the Mob", about Sammy the Bull and John Got. At about 10pm the skies opened and the rain came thundering down. I waited for a break to reluctantly check out the tent, reluctant because I had never used it in the rain. I could picture the small holes in the floor, ones that ants found in Huahine, with little geysers throwing rain water a few inches into the air - a bunch of short fountains as if holes were drilled into a row boat. It wasn't raining as hard, but still near pouring, and after walking back I jumped straight into the car to see what the comfort level would be with the rear seat down, but it didn't lay flat. Oh oh. I then guessed the front seat would be home for the night. To my surprise, when I did check the tent out, it was dry - all of it. I guess the grass was thick enough to sponge the deluge, and Monica being Monica, had sealed all the seams well. No, there wasn't fountains coming up under the floor. I was psyched! I could hear the rain coming down, the waves crashing, and there wasn't anyone nearby. I felt giddy getting ready to lay down, thinking, here I am alone as close as possible to the rain and waves, and I am dry. Camping again! I propped up the flashlight and continued reading my fifth Wilbur Smith, "The Burning Shore".

Mo 12/7/98 --- CATHEDRAL COVE BEACH

Pearl Harbor Day - one doesn't pass when I think of Bill Schefer and Stu Levenson, hosts of many Pearl Harbor Day parties.

Almost ran away to continue driving the peninsula, but when I asked about climbing the Pinnacle (a recommended hike to a high point of sandstone) from this side (you can't do it), I picked up a postcard with a great scene of Cathedral Cove. I asked where it was taken and was scolded for not walking there yet.

The car was safer at the campsite rather than the carpark closer to Cathedral Cove. I donned my running shoes, pack with camera equipment and Blacky, then set off for a run/walk for a few hours. After five minutes along the beach, a walkway clambered upwards, the path cresting a hill with the carpark, then up and down through woods and a little farmland. Descending a steep walkway to the beach I gasped at the idyllic setting - a few cool old gnarly trees growing at the back of a perfect sand beach, high yellow stone walls, sun on bright sea with three foot waves, and islands starting a half mile offshore that rise straight from the sea on tall dark rock to green tops. The beach end I plopped down on had a huge hole forty feet high in waist deep ocean through a 100 foot stone outcropping jutting into the sea. The other beach end boasted a narrow 50 foot waterfall landing on the sand. And ... only four other people! This was the postcard of Mare Hind Cove, seemingly confused with Cathedral Cove. I was psyched! I walked to the far end for a skinny dip, then rinsed in the waterfall. I can't picture a better setup. Two of the people on the beach were the German couple whom I talked with at length (no, I wasn't naked).about New Zealand, Australia, and Africa. When I said I was from near Boston, he try to conform that Gloucester was nearby, but he had to try three times to pronounce it. When I realized the town he mentioned, I exclaimed, "Ahhh, you read the book!". He had read Junger's 'The Perfect Storm'. The run back was uneventful, except for the warm feeling I carried from running in a new and pretty setting.

Mo 12/7/98 - DRIVING COROMANDEL

Because I left late from Hahei, I bypassed Cooks Beach and Ferry Landing, two spots with good beaches, and drove straight to the larger town of Whitanga for a couple of errands including posting off two rolls of slides, buying more lamb chops and juice, and harassing the help at the information center. (I am using prepaid Fuji mailers and having them returned to Monica.) From this small town, the road to the north is named 309 road because of its 309 turns! It is a gravel road winding up and down over the hills, similar to the Tapu road, with crazy tight blind turns with fast drop-offs and without guard rails, and scenic forested views. Twice, small trucks came around turns without notice, but luckily I was able to find room on the roads edge, but without margin for error. Just north on the other side of the peninsula is the town Coromandel, a relic from gold rush days long pasted, now a pretty tourist town. Heading east for a look, I passed low tide areas with the sea breaking a half mile away because of the slight slope of the floor and the moon tide. A line of bright wooden fishing vessels were tied to the town wharf, all sitting in the mud. To continue the journey to Fletcher Bay, I again passed through Coromandel, and turned north. The road was paved for 20km, then became gravel and dangerous. Here the road turns became tighter and the road narrowed to one lane. It climbed to hundreds of feet, providing spectacular views of the road winding along ahead, with the sea crashing on black jagged rock below, steep cliffs providing enough soil for rugged coastal trees, and above bounding green mountains of pasture. Of course the altitude meant a longer ride over the edge if something went amiss. I did worry. I even turned the hissy radio off in hopes of hearing another car approaching, but I don't think it would have helped for the tires on gravel were loud. In some countries, people toot the horn on corners. Fortunately, not one car came by. Passing through farms, goats were tied to fences and cattle roamed the road. Occasionally, wild turkeys were walking nearby, one with his full plumage fanning up from his behind - I thought this was only seen in school kids coloring books! I had to open and close gates on these farms, which was kind of fun, and kind of a pain. Eventually, after driving five hours, I reached Fletcher's Bay and the Department of Conservation (DOC) camping and hostel area.

Mo 12/7/98 - cont'd

The Lonely Planet said it was a magical place, and I'm a believer. It has a black sand beach, loud waves, islands not too far off, a backdrop of high green hills. I am psyched! And better than yesterday in that the grounds are very isolated - at the end of the road and no other buildings for miles and miles. I checked out the hostel, and while there filled up the water bottle because the sign at the camping area below said to boil all water. They said the water was fine and the signs should be changed. I asked what activities were available, and they pointed way up mountains and said I could take the 4x4 track to Stoney Bay, and walk back along the ocean, eight hours round trip. I said I was interested and asked if belongings were safe in the camping area. "We have never had a problem, but lock your tent, so the sheep won't get into your tucker". Great! I set up camp again as close to the water as possible, near a sign reading "Attention, fires prohibited under these Pohutukawa trees". I assumed they meant open fires. I pulled out Lanowy's stove for the first time. I kind of guessed how to use the thing - it's aluminum with a bunch of pot and pan pieces, plus a little container for the fuel. Well, maybe the sign meant all types of fires. I first burnt a nice round hole under the cook set, then blew out little fires as they sneaked to the grass. Hmmm, I supposed cooking on the grass wasn't a good idea. It took awhile to cook one of the pre-spiced chops, then heat the beans, then cook the other chop. But hey, it was another good meal! Apple juice to drink, cheese and crackers for appetizers. Not bad. Cleaning up was bad though - cold water and you have to take out your own trash.

Tu 12/8/98 --- HIKE FROM FLETCHER"S BAY TO STONEY BAY

The day before, I met the proprietors of the DOC hostel and camping area, Jim and Sue up at the hostel. They had pointed out what they called the 4x4 track, up the mountains behind the farm that covered the valley and surroundings. I left camp at 8am, and had to forge the river through the grounds twice to reach the hostel again so I could get a clarification on access to this track. A man pointed somewhere across the farms valley, at a few kids at the bottom, at the top of the hill. I still didn't know where he exactly meant, but he had an air (sp) that made it all sound simple, so I figured I could figure it out. I couldn't. I ran and jumped across the river, took a track around the hill that extended to the base of the ocean, walked past a group of male turkeys, went around the back side, and then came across a trail sign with an animal foot. That was a real trail but I wanted to be on top of the mountains , so I hopped a fence and climbed straight up the steep cow terraced hill. After a few rest stops with my heart ticking 150, I hopped another fence and found the 4x4 track. The weather wasn't the best; it was cool and windy. The tops of the mountains were in the clouds, and most of the sky above was covered, but the start of my days tramp had sun. The views were tremendous. This is such a beautiful country - 'big country', with big sweeping landscapes and seascapes. I felt that finally I could take my time and look for pictures since I was on my own, and I took advantage of it. Not only was it fun walking through a farm, but the farm provided beautiful green foreground with interesting fences and gates, and dotted with heifers and calves. As I walked higher towards the cloud ceiling, the roof of darkening sky looked ghostly, the wind blowing whitecaps, and the sparse sun glistening on a few spots on the black ocean. The coastline is rugged, high jagged cliffs reaching to the green pastureland. I entered the mist of the clouds, and thought the jacket would be needed soon, but the trail then descended and I was again below the clouds. Damp slippery slabs of rock gave way to firm red and orange clay. A very curious, tantalizing sound echoed from the forest and I laughed with pleasure at the three different reverberating notes sounding exactly like a wooden flute being played randomly over and over - the bird never showed himself. Pink and yellow triangular tags marked the locations of cyanide traps for pests - a little unsettling. After hiking three hours, near Stoney Bay, a group of young mountain bikers and their chaperones labored up a small hill. One bike had an electric motor attached to the rear wheel, but the boy and motor together couldn't make the hill. A sign at the gatepost read:

"Department of Conservation, Coromandel Mountain Bike Route - This steep 7.5 kilometer route, between Fletcher Bay and Stoney Bay, is an enjoyable but strenuous ride for intermediate/experienced mountain bikers, allow 2-5 hours depending on your fitness level."

Stoney Bay wasn't much to see, only a stone beach and another river to forge. It was drizzling so I sat under a tree for a bit of lunch with two ducks that shared my cheese and crackers. They wouldn't share well, so I didn't offer my raisins or apple. I removed my shoes and socks to walk the river, then used my shirt to dry my toes while it started raining hard. The route back was the Coromandel Walkway which winds along the coast on a contour at some height through thick forest. The forest was interesting, full of ferns, evergreens, and many other unusual trees and plants to me. The canopy was thick and almost jungle like in some areas. When a view was afforded, it was a magnificent overview of coastline with deep turquoise water Yes, turquoise, although the area beaches are black sand and turned up sediments cause the water to appear dark. In the distance were a number of islands including the Mercury Islands and Great Barrier Island which is huge. The trail was basically easy and flat, quick going. After a hour, the rain stopped, the sun returned. I stopped at an outcropping up and off the main trail for rest and to eat the apple I squandered (I'm running out of food). The view was spectacular! I set my Helly Hanson to dry in the sunshine and strong wind on a scrubby bush, sat back, and relaxed. I snapped off my twentieth picture, a vertical shot of the coastline. The trail started down to a bay and I found extremely cool trees and large leafed plants in a small valley extending to the sea. I passed a Israeli couple with full packs, the girl moaning about the hike. Another schlep up to contour, then I was back in the farm again and was mesmerized with the views, in particular cows under a tree on top a ridge the trail circumferenced. More photos - the most pictures taken in a day yet!

Tu 12/8/98 - cont'd

I returned to camp at 3:15, happy to be able to kick off the boots, and open a can of tuna for a snack with bread and cheese. I spent most of the rest of the day with two Swedish girls I met at the hostel and a couple of English surfers from Devon who gave the girls a lift here. Dinner was not of the same caliber as the previous nights - cheese and crackers for hors-doeurves, and an entree of spaghetti, boiled, no sauce. I joined the for cards up at the hostel.

Oh Monica? I kind of lost your tent stakes. There were too many, so at least I don't have to carry them (kidding). The phone call I made was to the other campground to see if someone turned them in. They may have fallen out of the car there, but the desk looked for them without success. Actually, this turned into a problem, because, the site at Fletcher's was the first time I really needed them. In fact, with most the camping I have ever done I do not use them. But this time I needed them. The camp area was on the ocean at the bottom of a big valley and the wind whipped one way or the other through it. Not constantly, but frequently strong howling gusts would get under the tent and try to lift it. I brought four, fifteen to twenty pound rocks from the beach to line the tent, but the wind still would get under and roll the tent. I put more rocks in. I moved the car to block the wind. When I returned from the hike, the tent looked like a slow convulsing amoebae, pretty funny. It was upright, but with the posts closer to the center that normal, and it was going through funky asymmetrical gyrations. I worried about the night. At near darkness, just before driving to the hostel, I spotted an old tent post against a tree. I pounded it in for a stake and bent it over - no way that was moving. I had already found an old rusty stake for the other side, then banged sticks at angles into the remaining four corners. I drove the car to the hostel, not wanting to cross the river in the darkness, and every time the wind howled, pictured the tent rolling between the trees, down the beach, into the water, and blowing over to Australia. Driving into camp I saw the tent was fine so I was very happy. Laying in the tent reading Wilbur Smith, I worried that a tree branch could fall on the tent. After a few minutes, a loud 'waa-rap' hit the tent side. I assumed it was a branch, but too lazy to check it out. Investigating the next morning - it must have been a six inch branch, but blasted against the tent.

We 12/9/98 - Oh Monica, you can forget about the lost tent pegs, they had fallen into the spare tire wheel. I woke at 7:30a, took a skinny dip, showered, ate most of remaining food, and talking to English Tom for awhile. The drive south along the winding coast was again great, but I resisted taking too many pictures, maybe only two. The Lonely Planet talked about the best beaches being in the east, along route 28, the Pacific Coast Highway. They were pretty good, but like a fool I drove to the end to Opito, a fool because to get there took too many hours along the exhausting roads. Maybe I wasn't getting quality sleep the last three nights on the ground. I was so tired I tried to find a dry beach with shade, but without luck laid the sulu down on grass in front of the car, read then slept for an hour. I stopped in Thames for fish and chip take out from the front of a Chinese restaurant. I ordered two pieces of fish and one of chips and couldn't believe the size and weight of my dinner wrapped in the automobile section of the Sunday paper - a massive amount! I dug threw the heap, tearing the fried batter off the fish, and searching for ketchup.

I arrived at Megan's at 10pm, and the group was watching a bad American movie. After everyone but Andrew went to bed, we stayed up late talking, moving from his birthday to an in depth conversation of his trip to the South Pole as pianist aboard a luxury ship out of Seattle. The trip left Christchurch February 1991 with 100 clients and 100 crew, costing $US1000 per night per person for twenty eight days. They visited three islands on the way down, and at the pole Scott Base (Kiwi), McMurdo Base (US), and Scott's and ____ huts. Andrew showed a home video with highlights of penguins, ice flows, the bases, and a group of young killer whales directly beside a zodiac Andrew was in.

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pole - scott an who?
Xmas tree - Pohutukawa
Fern like tree - Ponga, Koru - the shoots